


New Arrivals

by wordquandary



Series: Amy!verse [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Babies, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Genderswap, girl!john
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-27
Updated: 2012-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-31 19:54:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/347780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordquandary/pseuds/wordquandary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>What right did they have, did anyone have, in deciding whether he'd make a good father? The next time Mycroft came round she'd find all sorts of unconventional uses for that beloved umbrella of his.</em> Joan and Sherlock prepare for a new arrival in their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Arrivals

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  Sherlock bbc | Joan (girl!John)/Sherlock | PG | 2891  | _beta: flecalicious_ | _disclaimer_ : the show and the characters aren't mine

**_New Arrivals_ **

Joan Watson had always wanted children. Not even being told the excruciating details of pregnancy and labour whilst studying for her degree had put her off. 

Sherlock, on the other hand, did not strike Joan as being particularly paternal, which was fine—it was all fine. She loved him and wouldn’t want him to change, not even for her, and if she sometimes dreamt of what their child would look like, who he or she would take after the most, well—he didn’t need to know. She was happy. 

~~

They’d been married for two years now, two of the best years of her life.

It wasn’t perfect of course, marriage never was—they argued, though that wasn’t much of a change from when they’d simply been living together, and there was always the danger posed by the latest case, although now that Moriarty was no longer around Joan found herself less likely to be covered in semtex, which was a pleasant relief. It always surprised Joan how little life had changed after they’d gotten together properly; the teasing when they'd first met, of their married couple persona, had been scarily accurate, it seemed.

Still, despite being happier than at any other time she could remember, when people innocently asked about future plans for children Joan always felt a little knot inside her tighten. Every time she would reply with ‘when we’re ready’. Sherlock just seemed oblivious. She knew that couldn’t be the case—he was always aware of what was happening around him—he just didn’t seem to pay it much heed. 

There was one particular case where they were looking into the apparent kidnapping of a seemingly ordinary schoolteacher and her son. A small ransom note had been left behind, convincing her boyfriend and the police that they hadn’t gone of their own free will; Sherlock didn’t seem quite so certain. 

In the end it had turned out Sherlock was right, as usual. The boyfriend had been abusing his girlfriend’s son; she’d finally found the courage to leave and in an attempt to stop him following her had faked a kidnapping. She knew that if they thought she and her son had been taken they would believe the worst when there was no response from the ‘kidnappers’ regarding the ransom. Her son would be safe. 

Sherlock solved the case but at the insistence of the girl—and Joan—neglected to tell Scotland Yard or the boyfriend. The puzzle had been solved and what was the point in destroying all of the girl’s hard work? Joan didn’t understand why anyone would want to harm an innocent child—she knew it happened with devastating frequency, but it didn’t help her understand how someone could do it. 

Sherlock hadn’t seemed quite so bemused.

“Well, they can be rather irritating and incredibly stupid and dull,” had been his reply when she’d voiced her confusion back at the flat.

“I can’t believe you’re excusing that man.” She knew Sherlock could be cold and detached but there was always a reason for it—his way of staying focused, of not letting unwanted emotions overwhelm him. Where was the reason now?

“I’m not excusing him. Abuse is a terrible thing but the fact remains that it happens. I was simply giving some reasons for why it might.”

Joan hesitated before replying. “So you think children are dull? You’ve never wanted kids then?”

She’d never asked before, not directly at least—she’d always assumed he was uninterested and after this it would seem she’d been right.

“Not really, I’ve never really seen the point of them. They just get underfoot and all that crying makes it very hard to think clearly. Besides,” he said, “I’ve been reliably informed that I’d make a terrible father.” He didn’t sound hurt, simply resigned.

Joan had spun round from the cup of tea she was making at that last point. “Who on earth told you you’d make a terrible father?”

“Several people, though I think Mycroft has been the most adamant.”

“Well, he’s wrong—they’re wrong. I’m going to _kill_ your brother the next time I see him. I think you’d make a great dad, I really do.” She couldn’t believe it. What right did they have, did anyone have, in deciding whether he’d make a good father? The next time Mycroft came round she’d find all sorts of unconventional uses for that beloved umbrella of his.

Sherlock looked up at her, staring straight into her eyes, deciphering what he could from her expression. She’d slipped, revealed more than she’d intended to in that bout of defensiveness, but she held his gaze.

Still reading her face he started haltingly. “Of course, I haven’t had much reason to give it any thought in the past. Children in the abstract have never appealed to me but...” 

Here Sherlock seemed to stumble, struggling for the right words. Joan was frozen to the spot, needing to hear the rest of what he had to say.

“But I think...well...maybe...I’d want one, if it was yours.”

Joan’s face split into a wide grin. She held back though, wanted to make sure this wasn’t something he felt he had to say, but was rather something he actually wanted.

“Are you sure? I mean, I don’t want you to feel like you have to want kids, I’m happy as we are.”

“No, I would want a child with you.” His forehead creased as he carefully considered the implications of what he was saying. “Are you sure that you would want one with me? The people who told me never to become a father usually had valid reasons.”

“Of course I’m bloody sure! You’ll be a great dad—unconventional, certainly, but brilliant.” She knew this would only appease him for a while; the seeds of doubt sown by his bloody brother would gnaw at him at times, it couldn’t be helped. She’d always be there to remind him of the truth, of her faith in him as a good man despite what others thought they saw. She had no doubts about his ability as a dad. 

At that, Sherlock had risen from the sofa where he’d been lounging the entire time and embraced Joan, whispering in her ear, “I trust you”.  

 ~~

 It took four months before Joan became pregnant.

She knew these things sometimes took time but after over three months of trying she’d started to lose hope. Not that she was going to complain about the ‘trying’ but after that conversation, after realising she could have it all, to then be denied seemed like the cruellest of injustices. 

She’d been feeling funny for a few days; it was flu season at the clinic and Sherlock had run off on another case, scrabbling out his apology as he’d grabbed his coat, leaving Joan to mope around the flat with this stupid stomach bug.

There was a noise from the kitchen as Mrs Hudson put something on the table but Joan didn’t want to move to investigate on the off chance the nausea returned. When she finally felt well enough to take a look she saw the cup of now cold tea with a little box lying next to it. A pregnancy test.

Sherlock and Joan hadn’t had sex since the nausea had started; there was no way she was going to pass this to Sherlock if she could help it, no matter what he said about his bloody immune system. Where was the harm in taking the test though? The symptoms of morning sickness could easily be confused with a stomach bug—as long as she didn’t let herself begin to hope, what was the problem?

Five minutes later the tiny plastic stick had a new addition to its design, a small blue plus sign on the display—positive. Her grin was almost painful. 

The door to the bathroom suddenly swung open as Sherlock entered, a happy little smile playing around his eyes.

She turned to face him, waving the little stick in the air. “I’m...oh my God I’m...” She couldn’t get it out—to say it aloud made it seem so much more real. The happy shock had left her speechless.

“Pregnant? Yes.” To a casual observer Sherlock would appear calm and mildly pleased. Joan wasn’t fooled. There was a subtle hint of elation underlying his voice and the small smile from earlier kept threatening to break out into a shattering grin.

Joan threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his skinny frame, burying her head in his shoulder as she shook with unexpected joy. Sherlock simply held her, gently stroking her hair.

“It’s accurate, by the way,” he murmured into her ear, “I had Molly run a blood test for me.”

Joan pulled back slightly to get a better look at his face. “Wh-what?” She choked out, aghast. “When did you take a sample of my blood?  _How_ did you take a sample of my blood?”

Sherlock looked vaguely guilty—well, so he should, Joan thought. “After that first day of nausea I wanted to test a hypothesis so I took a little of your blood whilst you were sleeping.” At the faint look of horror on Joan’s face Sherlock elaborated. “Don’t worry, it wasn’t a lot and I was very careful; I didn’t want to wake you.”

Joan let her head fall back against Sherlock’s shoulder and started to laugh—really, what else could she do? “Next time, Sherlock, just ask? Please?” She drew back again as another revelation hit her. “This morning—that was the test results wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“And the pregnancy test left by Mrs Hudson was...”

“My suggestion, yes.” Joan was stunned and a little in awe. So what if she didn’t get to tell him the good news, he’d have only worked it out anyway. This was—well, this was proof, if ever she’d needed it, of how much he loved her—of how good a parent he was going to be.

~~

The morning sickness didn’t last long thankfully and Joan found her life going back to normal, only now chases over rooftops, threats and kidnappings by criminal gangs didn’t quite hold the same appeal. She still accompanied Sherlock to crime scenes but when a tiny bump started to show the other escapades started to stop. Putting her own life at risk was one thing—putting the life of her unborn child in danger was something else entirely.

Sherlock wasn’t happy with the changes—he knew it was for the best so didn’t contest her decision but every time he came back from a chase without her he would either go off on a rant about the prevalence of sheer idiocy in the city or simply sit and sulk. 

The dangers of being the world’s only consulting detective became apparent when it was time for her first ultrasound. She’d reminded Sherlock the day before and texted both Lestrade and Mycroft telling them that under no circumstances were they to request Sherlock’s presence. If only she’d informed the criminals that Sherlock had a prior appointment as well.

Joan wasn’t particularly concerned when there was no sign of Sherlock half an hour before the appointment; there was still plenty of time. Best to text him though, just in case.

When there were only ten minutes left and still no Sherlock and no reply from the earlier text she’d started to worry, frantically texting Lestrade and Mycroft as to her husband’s whereabouts. With five minutes remaining before her first ultrasound the phone buzzed—Lestrade. 

_Found Sherlock unharmed. Was being held at warehouse by 4 thugs, safe now. Will miss scan though . GL_

He’d been kidnapped? Well, at least this time he was unhurt, at least according to Lestrade; she’d check him over when she got home though, just in case—but God, kidnapped—and what had happened to his phone? She’d been right to worry and now she was going to face her first scan on her own. 

Lying on the doctor’s table, baring her abdomen, she felt nervous; after the panic of discovering Sherlock had been kidnapped her uneasiness had only intensified. She wished Sherlock was here. It was strange—as a doctor she knew all about ultrasounds but this was her first time as the patient and the role reversal made her feel uncomfortable. The cool gel and pressure of the transducer against her skin didn’t help settle her fears. 

Not until she looked up at the screen and saw her baby for the first time. 

It was a blur of shifting grey tones, but there in the centre of the screen was her child. She lay there, taking it all in, the reality of it finally striking her as she gazed at the blurry image.   It would have been the perfect moment had Sherlock not gotten himself kidnapped. She knew she shouldn’t be mad at him—it wasn’t his fault, after all—but right now she didn’t care about whose fault it was.

The sonographer's voice interrupted her thoughts. “Do you want to know the sex of the baby?”

They’d discussed it before. “No, thank you.” Sherlock wanted to work out the sex of the baby and Joan wasn’t fussed either way so she hadn’t really argued back. Even now that she was here alone she didn’t want to know—if she knew Sherlock would read it from her and no matter how mad she might be at him right now, she didn’t want to ruin his fun.

When she arrived back at the flat Sherlock had been waiting for her, a silent apology written across his face—it wasn’t easy to spot but Joan could read Sherlock’s face just as well as he could read crime scenes.

“Are you alright? Lestrade said you weren't hurt but are you sure you’re okay?” Her anger from earlier had dissipated into concern on the journey home.

Sherlock gave a small twitch of a smile. “I’m fine. How was the ultrasound?”

She knew he already knew there were no problems with the baby, but the fact that he’d made the effort to ask spoke volumes. “Everything seems fine. Would you like to see?”

She reached into her bag, producing the image as Sherlock gave a single nod. Taking the scan his eyes softened as he inspected the image of their son or daughter. A quiet, “thank you,” could be heard as Joan headed into the kitchen to make two cups of tea.

~~

Mrs Hudson often came upstairs helping them baby proof the flat. Despite Joan’s vehement objections Sherlock kept the majority of his chemicals, instead simply moving them to the top shelves. He pointed out that if Joan couldn’t reach them a newborn infant was hardly likely to get in, and Joan had just muttered under her breath; at least she’d won the argument against keeping body parts in the fridge, even if it was only after ganging up on him with the help of Mrs Hudson and Lestrade.

Now that she was spending more time at the flat she’d started to plan the baby’s room. They were using Sherlock’s old bedroom; seeing as how he hadn’t used it since they’d started sleeping together. Sherlock had wanted to keep it as a storeroom for his experiments but this was one argument Joan wasn’t going to back down from. The resulting sulk had lasted two weeks.

The colour scheme was going to be a neutral shade of yellow; despite Sherlock’s frequent attempts at guessing the sex of the baby they still didn’t know. Joan had started to get fed up with his continual exclamations of ‘it’s a boy’ or ‘it’s a girl’ based on various random factors. On one memorable occasion Sherlock had been adamant it was a boy after conducting some bizarre experiment involving urine and sink unblocker; she decided the less she knew about it the better.

Mycroft came round for a ‘visit’ late on in the pregnancy to get his brother's assistance on some civil servants’ disappearance. He and Sherlock had been jabbing at each other for the past hour when Joan finally had enough. Heaving herself off the sofa she’d headed for the kitchen before coming to an abrupt halt a few steps in. Both Holmes brothers’ heads flicked round to look at her, one in concern, the other surprise.

Her expression was one of shock, fear and hope as she turned to face them both. “My waters just broke.”

~~

Nine hours later a little baby girl with Sherlock’s dark hair and Joan’s blue eyes blinked her way into the world—Amy Talullah Holmes was born.

Sherlock had insisted on an unusual name as per Holmes tradition but Joan had put her foot down. Kids were cruel and life would be hard enough for a child with such an unconventional family, without adding the torment of potential name teasing. They reached a compromise with the use of a middle name. 

As for her surname, when they’d married Joan had kept her maiden name—her patients knew her as Doctor Watson and Sherlock hadn’t wanted her to change it—but neither of them liked the idea of a cumbersome double-barrelled name for their daughter, and in the end they decided on simply using ‘Holmes’.

Joan hoped she’d grow up to be just as brilliant as her father.

  
Fin.


End file.
